Graveyard of Dreams
by MilkM0nster
Summary: Altair is skeptic about the city Acre's newest recruit. "A Butcher to the Lambs of God."


Just leaning on my shovel

In this graveyard of dreams.

"Stop! Catch him!"

Altair ducked under the Guard's blade that sliced just inches above his head. He jabbed his own blade forward, digging it heavily into the other man's stomach. He fell with a howl, allowing Altair to speed past, scaling up a nearby wall. He yanked a throwing knife from his belt and jerked it into a tailing Guard's face, watching with blaring eyes as the man fell.

Altair knew the rooftops of Acre well. As well as he knew himself. Leaping down into a cart of hay, he swung back out, dusting himself off before stalking down the alley way. The night was young, though no-one had seen him fall from the air. This city was full of simple minds. Altair snorted softly, skirting around the corner at the sight of a group of Guards.

Something in his gut told him to head North, towards the Bureau. He nodded minutely to himself, silently leaping up a wall and catching the ledge with dexterous fingers. Pushing himself up with strong legs, he jolted to a halt at the pointed metal tip of a scimitar that rested in his face. His eyes traveled up the edge of the blade to the shaky hand that held it. The thin guard that stood before him shivered violently, teeth bore in a determined scowl.

Altair smacked the scimitar away and shifted to the side, jerking his knee upwards and jolting the blade from the boy's hands, his own sword drawn. Spacing his legs apart in a powerful stance, a cruel smile came to his lips.

"Well, now, this is just pathetic," he hissed. "What is this damnable city thinking of placing you, a little whelp of a human, to guard it's confines from ME?"

A harsh laugh came from under his cowl, making the younger man shudder.

"This should not take too long," he growled, tilting his neck sharply, before lunging forward. The boy stumbled back, pulling a small dagger free from his belt as he warded off the assault in the nick of time. Altair stepped back, cocking his head.

"You are a fast one," he muttered blandly. The boy spat.

"I have to be," he rasped, speaking finally, "to kill a bastard assassin like you!"

A whistle in the air, and a sharp sting on Altair's cheek made him jolt back in surprise. The boy's dagger glinted a bright crimson. A cruel smirk tugged at the corners of Altair's lips.

"We shall see about that," he crooned in a steely tone. Dropping his own long-sword, he pulled the short blade from it's sheathe on his back. Flexing his fingers and grinning, Altair lunged again, catching the boy in the gut, slicing open his uniform. A shallow cut formed on his exposed skin.

"Damn!" the boy snarled, jerking his body forward, feet quick and stance strong and sure. The blade whizzed past Altair's chest as the Assassin ducked back, countering the attack to use the boy's momentum against him. Altair slammed the boy's body into a crumbling wall, their blades scraping dangerously close to his throat.

"Well, see how this worked out?" Altair grated, words strained as he pressed harder on the blade. He showed his teeth in a wicked smile.

"These fools send me the Lambs of God... I am a Butcher, boy, do you understand?"

The boy's eyes widened briefly, before narrowing as he brought his knee up into Altair's stomach, shoving the winded Assassin away. He stood over Altair, breathing as heavily as his opponent was.

"And I am their Shepherd. I will not lead my Flock astray!" the young man hissed.

Altair let out a heavy laugh.

"You are fool-hardy..." he murmured, his voice raspy. "Most definitely a worthy opponent..." standing shakily, he took a deep breath before swinging harshly, his blade slicing across the boy's cheek. Stepping into the assault, he aimed another blow with the hilt of his weapon at his jaw, hoping to catch him and finish him off. The boy had other plans, ducking below the swing of Altair's arm and hitting him hard under his right arm. Altair howled as jolts of pain shot through his shoulder and collarbone.

"Y-Y-you little punk," he stammered with a shaky smirk. With quick, precise movements, he kicked and shoved the boy away, his arm swinging numbly at his side.

As his blade fell from his hand as the boy collapsed, Altair pounced, taking the abused weapon in his left hand, holding it tightly as he straddled the boy's waist. He held the blade high.

"God come down!" he crowed. "If you are really there!" he tilted his head upwards, shouting mockingly. "Well, you are the one who claims to care!"

The weapon crashed down on the boy's skull, the sickening crack accompanied by the hiss and snap of lightening. Altair stared at the boy's listless eyes, watching as they grew dull.

"Too much of a waste," he murmured, standing up. "Too young to work. Too young to die."

Altair turned his back, staring at his hands and the blood that mingled with the now pouring rain and slid across his leather bracers and gloves. He clenched his hands.

"Butcher to the Lambs of God."


End file.
